


In Which Dean has Magical Hair, Cas is Irritated, and Everybody Hates Sam

by hellbela



Category: Supernatural, Tangled (2010)
Genre: AU, Crack, Disney, Flynn!Sam, Gabriel is a dissatisfied Destiel shipper who takes things into his own hands, Humor, M/M, Non-consensual musical numbers, Pascal!Cas, Rapunzel!Dean, SPN universe is still canon, Tangled AU, literally what the fuck, this is all crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbela/pseuds/hellbela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Sam and Dean fail to have a chick flick moment, an archangel tries to play matchmaker, and Cas is a chameleon. That's about it, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Whole New World

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> So before I jump into the story, let me just give a shoutout to a couple people who helped me revise, answered my hysterical emails, and just generally boosted my ego. Thanks goes to Lizzy for helping with ideas and generally just being a source of positivity and support, topazwinters for trying to convince me to make Dean's life easier than it isn't, Maeve for discussing possible side characters with me and Natasha for emailing me episodes so I could better understand the characters (at the cost of multiple tissues and the last remaining shreds of my dignity). This fic wouldn't be the same without your help, and I really appreciate what you guys've done for me. *hugs*
> 
> This fic is rated T for swear words, but that's about it. Otherwise, it's perfectly safe.
> 
> (In Which Dean has Magical Hair, Cas is Irritated, and Everybody Hates Sam should be complete by May 28, at the latest. If it isn't, feel free to message me about my incompetence and blatant disregard for deadlines.)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Paige

The first coherent thought Dean was able to piece together when he came to was: _There is a chameleon licking my face_.

Half-heartedly, he smacked the pest away, but it simply returned to his side, slobbering over him with a greater sense of urgency. “Alright, I get it, I’m up,” he mumbled (and if his voice sounded different, he dismissed it; he’d investigate that later, when he didn’t feel so much like he’d been hit by a bus), and satisfied, the chameleon drew back, drawing its tongue back into its mouth with a disgusting, wet slap. Blinking blearily, he attempted to sit up, but exhaustion had him wrecked; his head pounded with what he would otherwise diagnose as a hangover, but something told him that this time, this wasn’t the case. Plus, his head felt a lot heavier than usual.

Other than that and the pounding headache, he noted, he seemed to be perfectly fine.

Dean was instantly suspicious.

Life as a hunter, if anything, had taught him not to take anything for granted, and a lack of injuries seemed to suggest that something was amiss. Dragging the back of his hand across his cheek in an effort to remove the trails of reptilian saliva (like, _ew_ ), his eyes widened at the feel of smooth skin, and he fell still. Dean hadn’t shaved in what, a week?

And worse, his skin was soft. Like, baby-soft.

Completely and utterly alert now, he cautiously moved his gaze downward.

Pink. Purple. A dress. He was wearing _a dress._

And was that… _hair?_

Dean jumped, swearing loudly. His sudden shift in balance, along with the unaccounted for added weight of his hair, caused him to sway dangerously, and with a muffled _oof!_ he fell into a pile of girly fabric and golden split ends.

Alright. So he was a girl. Dean guessed he could live with that.

If only he could get himself to stop hyperventilating.

\-------

When Dean had a) forced himself to calm the fuck down, and b) managed to stand without wobbling _too_ much, he decided to take inventory of his surroundings. Within a minute, he was forcing back a shudder.

The entire room was decked out in pastels. The soft, comforting pinks, yellows and greens that filled the room only seemed repulsing to Dean; the gentle colors and cozy wooden furniture made him feel like he was caught in a little girl’s fairytale. _Which I may as well be_ , he realized. Hell, it wasn’t like there was any evidence to the contrary.

Dean shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was Dean Winchester. He hunted demons. His best friend was a fucking angel, for god’s sake, and his home was in the shadows and shitty motel rooms. Dean had learned a long time ago that nothing was impossible, but fairy tales? That was the one pill he couldn’t swallow- or, couldn’t, he remembered, until that job in Maple Springs.

Shit.

Emerging from his thoughts, he was puzzled to find that the room seemed to be blurring, only to realize he was pacing. Just as he realized this, he promptly fell on his ass.

Rubbing the back of his head and cursing, Dean sat up unsteadily, only to find himself seated in front of a wood-framed mirror.

Large green eyes stared back at him.

Whoever had done this, Dean grudgingly had to admit, they sure had a sense of humor. The girl he was inhabiting bore an almost uncanny resemblance to him, at least in terms of facial features; they had the same light spill of freckles across their cheeks, the same candy green eyes. But it looked like that was where the similarities ended. Dean was pretty sure his eyes weren’t the size of dinner plates, nor was his hair blonde, silky smooth and a mile long.

(Later, Dean would correct that assumption to 70 feet. He’d used a ruler.)

Nor did he have the physique of a Barbie doll.

With a bitter chuckle, his thoughts drifted, and he found himself wondering, What would Sammy say? He could easily imagine his brother laughing his head off at Dean’s predicament. No doubt Sam and Cas’d both been dealt the better hand in this univer-

Dean’s eyes snapped open.

Sam. Cas.

How could he have been so _stupid?_

Mentally berating himself for getting wrapped up in his own problems, Dean struggled to his feet and stumbled through the rooms, shouting, “Sam! Cas! You there?” feeling more desperate with each passing minute. He was just ascending the wooden staircase when a voice behind him called, “Sorry, Dean-o, but your search is useless. You won’t be finding either of them here- well, not Sam, anyway.”

“Gabriel?” Dean asked in disbelief, turning to gape at the smirking Trickster, idly twirling a strand of Dean’s hair between his fingers. His eyes blazed with anger. “What have you done with them? What have you done with _Cas?_ ”

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” Gabriel tsked, shaking his head slowly at the obviously infuriated princess. “You really think I was going to separate you from your companions forever? Don’t worry, your brother and Castiel are safe. As a matter of fact, you’ve already seen the angel. I personally ensured that he was the first thing you’d see when you got up. Rather-” his eyes narrowed- “ _romantic,_ wouldn’t you say?”

“You turned Cas into a chameleon?” Dean said blankly. Shaking himself out of his brief stupor, his temper gave way to suspicion. “Why are you even doing this?” he demanded. “What’s the point? What are you even trying to accomplish?”

The archangel’s careful composure shattered, and Dean realized that Gabriel was irritated. “Dean,” he hissed, “I could hear you and Sam arguing across Heaven. And it’s not like it’s such a big mystery that you’ve got the hots for my little bro,” he continued, as Dean’s face paled. “Oh, save the excuses,” he snapped. Dean’s protests died on his tongue. “That you’re not worth it, that you break everything you touch, blah, blah, blah. It’s getting _old_ , Winchester, and if you can’t even admit your feelings to yourself, much less your brother, than _we’ve_ got a _serious_ problem.”

Dean swallowed. “How do I get out of here?”

“Oh, don’t think too hard on it, princess. I’m sure the answer will come to you in-” he checked his watch- “approximately thirty seconds. Right now, I’ve got to check on your brother. And don’t worry, Dean,” he said, his eyes lighting up with mischief, “Sammykins’ll be _stealing_ his way in here soon. Enjoy your musical number!”

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and in a puff of Skittles scented smoke, he vanished.

“That son of a bitch- CAS! WHERE ARE YOU?”

A green chameleon crawled up the banister, yawned, and shot him an exasperated look.

“Oh, thank god. Cas, listen, I was just talking to Gabe- yeah, I _know_ , Cas, don’t give me that look- and he mentioned that we would get answers, like, _really_ soon. Knowing him, it’s probably not as simple as it sounds, and I don’t really remember the rest, something about stealing, and a…”

A jaunty guitar tune struck up in the background.

“Musical number,” Dean breathed. He swore. “That little-

_“Seven AM, the usual morning lineup…”_

Dean slapped a hand over his mouth, but though muffled, the words kept coming out. Neither he nor Castiel seemed to have control of their bodies, and as he stepped away from the clock, holding Cas in his hands, he suddenly found himself in the middle of the room with a broom in his hand, Cas clutching a dustpan and looking as confused as Dean felt.

 _“Start on the chores and sweep 'til the floor's all clean,”_ he sang, sweeping dust into Cas’s face and making a mental note to strangle Gabe when this was over.

_“Polish and wax, do laundry and mop and shine up,_

_"Sweep again, and by then it's like, seven fifteen!”_ _Who finishes chores in fifteen minutes?_ Dean wondered, using the split second of silence to gasp, “Cas, what-”

_“And so I'll read a book…”_

After a while, though, Dean simply gave up. Fighting for control of his movements, or even just attempting to combat this weird urge to sing his heart out seemed useless, and just ninety seconds into the song he was already exhausted. At the moment, he was running in circles, tossing bundles of his hair into the air as he sang, _“And I'll keep wanderin', and wanderin', and wanderin', and wonderin',_ _when will my life begin?”_ Dean was attempting to memorize the lyrics as they spilled from his mouth, following Gabriel’s vague suggestion that some line from the song held the key to their escape. As he felt the music change, though, he allowed a twinge of excitement; Dean was sure that this was the part the archangel had been hinting at.

 _“And tomorrow night,”_ he sang softly, staring up at the sky with shining eyes, _“the lights will appear,_

_"Just like they do on my birthday, each year…_

_“What is it like, out there where they glow?_

_"Now that I'm older, Mother might just let me go…”_

Dean’s voice cracked on the last note, and even Cas winced at the butchering of the song. Conversely, Dean couldn’t suppress his smirk even as he collapsed in exhaustion. Something told him that this wasn’t going to be the last musical number he’d be forced to endure in his time here, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to make his singing as unpleasant as possible. It didn’t exactly mean that his effort to deter the Trickster from forcing him into any more numbers would work, but hey, a guy could dream. And Dean Winchester used his dreams sparingly.

 _“That you’re not worth it, that you break everything you touch, blah, blah, blah. It’s getting_ old _, Winchester, and if you can’t even admit your feelings to yourself, much less your brother, than_ we’ve _got a_ serious _problem.”_

Dean winced.

Initially, he hadn’t even known that Gabriel was listening in on their spat. All he could remember from that night, as he lay sprawled out on the couch of the rundown motel room, moody and upset and trying to hide it, after bidding Cas a less than cordial farewell before he flew off to heaven to discuss angel-y things with his brothers and sisters, was Sam turning to him with fire in his eyes, saying in a voice dangerously low, _“Dean, we need to talk.”_

“About what?” Dean had asked distractedly, not noticing the anger in Sam’s voice. His head pounded and he grimaced, holding up a finger to his brother (for once, it wasn’t the middle one). “You know what, hold that thought, Sammy. I need a drink.” He made for his car keys, only for them to slip through his fingers as Sam smacked them to the floor. “What the hell?” he exclaimed, looking into his brother’s face for the first time since he’d walked into the room (and promptly fallen into the couch); his forehead creased as Dean processed his brother’s fury, and shifting into concerned-brother-mode, he asked, “Sammy? What’s going on?”

“You are,” Sam responded, voice clipped and venomous. Plopping down into a ratty lounge chair opposite a very confused Dean, his large frame seeming to fill the room, he held his brother’s questioning gaze as he said simply, “So. Talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dean said instinctively. Sam raised his eyebrows.

“Really, Dean? There’s absolutely nothing you want to say? Because all week, you’ve been a closed off, insufferable pain in the ass, and you’ve been treating Cas like absolute shit. So you’re going to drop your defenses and tell me just what the fuck is going on, because it sure as hell isn’t “nothing”, as you put it.”

Dean suddenly found it hard to speak. Swallowing past the dryness in his throat, his tongue large and clumsy in his mouth, he managed an unintelligent “uh” before coughing awkwardly into his fist. He glanced desperately at his car keys, still lying in a pathetic heap on the cheap carpeting, a silent plea for help that did not go unnoticed by Sam. His younger brother shot him a glower, keys disappearing under a worn leather boot, and Dean gave an involuntary shudder as realization struck: he could be as stubborn as he wanted, but his efforts would be in vain; tonight, Sam was going to get answers.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t gonna be stubborn.

“Sam,” he started, glaring at his brother, who returned the look, “you know I’ve got problems as well as I do. And I know you want to help, but you know what? I don’t need it. I’m fine, I’m dealing. Conversation’s over.” He started to get up, but Sam was on him before he could blink, pinning him to the couch, fingers digging painfully into his flesh.

“You’re dealing?” Sam laughed, eyes flashing. “That’s funny; I didn’t know that bullying Cas could be used as a coping mechanism.” Dean flinched at Castiel’s name, and Sam’s eyes widened. “But this isn’t about you, is it? This is about _Cas._ About your suppressed feelings for your best friend.”

Dean struggled violently, but the younger hunter had him in a death grip. He glowered at his brother with absolute hatred. “Fuck you,” he spat.

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam chided, and Dean blinked at the unexpected softening of Sam’s eyes. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, when he thinks you can’t see him. I’ve seen the sound of his voice bring a smile to your face. I see how protective you are of each other; I see how much you both care, and I think you do too. And you know what? I think that’s why you’ve been so moody, why you’re pushing him away. Because you think you’ll disappoint him.”

Dean chuckled hollowly. “Yeah, like that’s not gonna happen. Like he would even consider being with someone like me. Like if he even felt the same, _if,_ I could ever truly make him happy. The thing is, Sam, I’m selfish. I want to be with him; I want it to be perfect. But knowing me, I’d find a way to fuck everything up. If I slip up and let Cas under my skin, I’ll ruin him. And I can’t let that happen.”

“So you’re protecting him by distancing yourself from him,” Sam said disbelievingly. He shook his head. “Dean, do you _really_ believe in what you’re saying, or are you just making excuses for the fact that you’re scared that _he’ll_ break _you_? Are you so paranoid that you run at the very _idea_ of commitment? You’re like goddamn _Rapunzel_ , Dean, all holed up and alone in your tower, not letting anyone in. Because you’re scared that if you do, the foundations will crumble. And so, by “saving” Cas by staying away from him, you hurt him and yourself in the process.”

Dean opened his mouth to retaliate, but in the blink of an eye, the memory dissolved, and Dean shot up in the pastel room, eyes wide.

 _“You’re like_ Rapunzel _, all holed up and alone in your tower, not letting anyone in.”_

_Rapunzel._

_Tower._

Oh, Gabriel was _so_ gonna regret this.

 

 


	2. Someday My Prince Will Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter freaking out!Dean, irritated!Cascal, and a very, very confused Sam Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated birthday, Claire!

Not for the first time, he thought, as an arrow whistled past his ear, Sam Winchester found himself wondering just exactly what the hell was going on.

He had woken up to a new body, a throbbing headache, and a pair of rather intimidating thieves spitting into his face. (The Stabbingtons, they were called. He had later found that out rather unfortunately through a WANTED poster tacked to a nearby tree, hanging below one bearing his own likeness. If he was going by touch, they hadn’t gotten his nose right.)

“What the- _Dean?”_ he shouted frantically, scrabbling for purchase on the grassy forest floor before a large, rough palm slapped against his mouth.

“Cut the crap, Rider,” Brute Number One hissed, and Sam wrinkled his nose at the feel of the man’s foul breath, hot against his skin. “Surely you can’t have hit your head _that_ hard.” Grabbing Sam’s shirt, he yanked him into a standing position before cuffing a lump forming on the back of his head, chuckling at Sam’s gasp of pain. “Now get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover, and we can’t risk any more distractions.”

“And by the way, _Dean?"_ Brute Number Two asked, turning to Sam with a smirk. “Didn’t know you swung that way, Rider.”

His smile faltered under Sam’s well executed bitchface. “Don’t be disgusting,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Dean’s my _brother.”_

“Brother?” Brute Number One demanded, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You never mentioned a brother.”

 _Oops._ Feigning nonchalance, Sam shrugged, keeping his voice even as he replied, “Something tells me you two aren’t really the type to be interested in family anecdotes.”

After giving Sam a scrutinizing gaze, the brothers locked eyes for what seemed like longer than necessary, an extended stare that was eerily reminiscent of Dean and Cas’s staredowns; Sam winced at the comparison, reordering his mental list of priorities. _Step 3: Find a way out. Step 2: Track down Dean and Cas, if here as well. Step 1: Don’t do anything stupid._

Emerging from their telepathic debate, the thieves turned back to Sam, looking suspicious and vaguely irritated. “We don’t know what you’re playing at, Rider,” Brute Number One growled, “but right now we’ve got a job to do, and we can’t do it without you. So we’ll let it slide… _for now.”_

“Wait, a job?” Sam asked with a sinking feeling. “Involving _what,_ exactly?”

The brothers looked murderous.

\-------

Apparently, the job had involved stealing the lost princess’s crown from the castle overlooking the kingdom Sam had woken up in. If the arrows were anything to go by, it hadn’t gone too well.

But hey, it wasn’t Sam’s fault that that palace guard had sneezed. And really, could he be blamed for saying a quick “bless you” as he disappeared into the ceiling? In his defense, it was instinctual, a force of habit. But even Sam had to admit that in the long run, it probably wasn’t such a good idea.

He swore as an arrow grazed his leg, tearing off a strip of tan fabric and pinning it to a nearby tree.

Yeah, this definitely wasn’t such a good idea.

He had lost the Stabbington brothers a while back in a sudden burst of energy, which was probably a good thing. He was pretty sure they wanted to murder his ass. But, if he was going to be perfectly honest with himself, that wasn’t anything new. Huffing a laugh in between pants, he allowed his mind to drift, thinking fondly of all the threats and horrors awaiting him in the real world.

A branch smacking into his face abruptly woke him from his thoughts.

His eyes widened as he spotted a gnarled tree, branches impeding all ways through but one, and in a frenzied, half-baked impulse, he dove gracelessly through the gap, leaving behind all but one of the pursuers. Glancing back to see who it was, he groaned inwardly at the sight of the horse that seemed to have it out for him and its equally furious rider.

Another one of those weird instincts was sparked by a twisted vine hanging ahead of him.

“Do it for the vine!” he shouted, leaping from a unnaturally smooth boulder and grabbing the creeper. _Who’s Dr. Badass now,_ he couldn’t help thinking smugly as, clinging to the plant for dear life, he kicked off from a tree trunk and swung ‘round the tree, knocking aside the head guard and falling in an undignified heap onto his horse. “Yah!” he shouted, flicking the reins.

The horse screeched to a halt.

Swinging his head around to look at Sam, his nostrils flaring in recognition, the animal glared at Sam with absolute loathing.

“Oh, _for fuck’s sake,”_ Sam muttered exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. He rummaged around in the satchel and, pulling out an ornate jeweled crown, plopped it on the horse’s head. “Now _will you please_ leave me the fuck alone?”

The horse seemed too in shock to do anything other than stare at the crown slipping down his forehead in confusion.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Sam grumbled as he swung off the horse.

 

\-------

Sam was tired, he was bleeding, and he was pissed.

He didn’t know what was going on, and right now, he wasn’t sure if he would ever know. He had been wandering ‘round the forest (in _circles_ , probably) for god knows how long, and judging by the lack of anything, he wasn’t going to be stopping anytime soon. Swearing, he dragged his fingers through a curtain of trailing plants overhanging a cave, collapsing against a weatherbeaten rock to catch his breath.

_Overhanging a cave…_

His eyes shot open, and silently, he slipped between the vines.

“Oh- _wow_.”

Nestled between two cliffs, a gushing waterfall flowing down the sides, a tower stood tall, refusing to crumble under the flowers and moss threatening to overtake it. A sparkling river snaked lazily through the clearing, burbling happily. The plant life was rich and luxuriant, and Sam could have sworn he heard a pair of squirrels chittering away in the trees; he was starting to feel slightly ill.

But he needed shelter, and if he had to walk through a sickeningly sweet clearing to get it, he damn well wasn’t going to back down.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and strode into the clearing.

He had only taken two steps before he was accosted by a family of bunnies.

“Go on, shoo,” he hissed, but they refused to budge, instead hopping closer to his feet and snuggling against his boots.

_Oh god._

Cringing at the cuteness, he bent down, trying to free his feet from the nest of fur. In the process, he accidentally crushed a fuzzy ear under his sole.

The bunny sat up, looked at him, and screamed.

The nest of bunnies fell still, removing themselves from his shoes and staring at him. Sam felt the back of his neck dampen with sweat as, out of the corner of his eye, he watched various forest animals emerge from their holes, blinking in the light, and flock to the still screaming bunny. Very soon he had an army of rabbits, mice, chipmunks, squirrels and even a fox gathered at his feet.

He could have sworn he saw their eyes flash red before they attacked him.

“Shit!” he yelled, pulling fuzzy rodents from his clothes and skin as he danced around pairs of gnashing teeth. He gasped as the fox sank its claws and fangs into his leg. “Shitshit _shit!”_

He fled to the tower, swearing with every step, and pulling out a couple arrows he had pocketed, started to climb. As soon as he was out of reach, the animals growled, chittered, and made various threatening noises before scampering off in different directions. Within moments, the clearing was empty.

“Huh,” Sam said in disbelief, not noticing the squirrels popping out of his boots. “Would you look at tha- _HOLYFUCKINGSHIT!”_

After fiercely battling the rascals all the way up the tower, the last thing he was expecting when he finally tumbled in was to be hit in the back of the head with a frying pan.

 _Kill me now,_ was his last conscious thought as he slumped to the floor.

 

_Pastels._

_Golden hair._

_And green, green eyes._

“What are you doing here?”

Suddenly, Sam remembered where he was.

"Oh my god," Sam said, scrambling to his feet, only to be forced back down by the practically feral frying-pan-armed blonde, her eyes narrowed to slits. "I'm so sorry," he apologized profusely, hands held up in what he hoped was a placating gesture. Judging by the girl's expression, it didn't seem to be working. But then again, if he looked anything like he felt, he wouldn’t trust him either. "I didn't know this tower was occupied, I just needed a place to stay, I guess I'll just leave-" _Hold on,_ he thought, halting his tirade of apologies to take a closer look at the blonde. Something in her expression seemed familiar: maybe it was the firey determination in her eyes, the smattering of freckles across her cheeks, or the defensive posture she struck that said she could hold her own in a fight. "Dean?" he scoffed.

The frying pan fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Sammy?" the blonde asked, dropping to his side. "That you?" The feigned gruffness in his brother's now considerably higher-pitched voice, entirely at odds with his Barbie doll physique, was way too amusing, and Sam fought hard not to snicker.

"Sure is," he said, struggling to keep a straight face. "You look different," he mused, and the tips of Dean's ears turned pink. "Considerably manlier than usual."

Dean smacked him upside the head.

“Well, you look like shit,” he countered, and Sam winced as he recalled his injuries. “What happened to you, anyway?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. So, is there any hydrogen peroxide here, or will I just have to suffer in silence?”

Dean suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

“Um, yeah…” he stalled, shifting from foot to foot. “Speaking of that, uh… Okay, this’ll sound really weird, but you might wanna-”

“Dean.” Sam silenced his brother. “Just spit it ou- hold on, is that stuff _hair?”_

“Yeahitisandyouneedtowrapyourselfinit,” Dean blurted.

“I need to _what?”_ Sam spluttered, but Dean was already on him, rolling him into a giant golden cocoon. Sam attempted to protest, but a green chameleon hopped onto his face and pinched his lips shut.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean called to the chameleon, and Sam barely managed an incredulous _“Cas?”_ through his locked lips before the chameleon shot him an irritated look.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Dean said to the chameleon, looking slightly shaken. Cas gave him a reassuring smile and crawled off of Sam’s face.

“Okay, what is go-” Sam started, but he was stunned into silence when Dean Winchester, his brother- his classic-rock-loving, _no-chick-flick-moments_ brother- opened his mouth, and with a shaky breath, started to sing.

 _“Flower, gleam and glow,”_ he sang, and Sam stared at the golden light flowing from the roots of his hair, _“let your power shine,_

_“Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine._

_“Heal what has been hurt, change the fate’s design,”_ Dean continued, and Sam drew a sharp breath as he felt the magic surging into his cuts, mending the broken skin, fading the marks from his bruised and broken body.

_“Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine,_

_“What once was mine.”_

The glow faded from Dean’s hair as he sang the last note, and Dean unrolled Sam from his healing burrito, helping him to his feet. Awaiting a verdict, Dean fidgeted, wringing his hands as he glanced anxiously at his brother. Sam simply stared at him, lost for words.

When he finally spoke, choosing his words carefully, he kept his voice even, measured.

“Dean- you have got _a lot_ of explaining to do."


	3. A Girl Worth Fighting For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My stupidest chapter yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, I'm really sorry about the delay. I'll try to post updates more often, and I think that a Supervengers fic might be in the works after this :) I'll post updates on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/paigewritesfic). Speaking of which, does anybody know if Jared Padalecki answers tweets? I sent him a letter asking about the color of his eyes; I just want to know if he'll answer it. Thanks :D

“So let me just get this straight,” Sam said dubiously. _“You’re_ Rapunzel, like _fairy-tale Rapunzel, I’m_ some sort of master thief, _Cas_ is a… green lizard-thing, and this is all because _Gabriel’s_ being a douchebag?” His eyes flashed at the name _Gabriel,_ and Dean knew he was remembering Mystery Spot. “Hasn’t he screwed with us enough?”

Cas shot Sam a long-suffering look, and Dean sighed.

“Technically, he’s a chameleon, and there’s the whole magical hair thing. But yes, it’s all true, and I want to gank that son of a bitch as much as you do.”

To his credit, Sam only held the shocked expression for a moment longer before his features melted into something resembling resignation. “Okay,” he exhaled, running a hand through his hair (whose length hadn’t exactly changed, Dean noted wryly). “So, do you, um… know anything about the original story? Maybe there are some books-”

“Dude, I probably know less about Rapunzel than you do. Fairy tales weren’t exactly a big part of our childhood, if you get what I mean. And I don’t exactly think there would be a copy of the story in the Rapunzel universe.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I- it’s always a possibility, I guess. And besides, if this is _Gabriel’s_ doing-” he spat the archangel’s name- “anything’s possible.”

Castiel sighed deeply, but in his reptilian state, it came out more like a squeak. Crawling across the floor to Dean’s feet, the chameleon nudged his ankle and, when he had gotten Dean’s attention, trailed the tip of his tail over the tiles in a silent mimic of writing.

“Oh! That’s right. Sorry, Cas.” Laying his frying pan on a side table, Dean strode across the room, returning with a small covered pot, which he set down on the floor by the angel, who gave a small nod of appreciation. “It’s how we communicated before you toppled in,” he explained to a perplexed Sam. “Nice choice of cuss words, by the way. We could hear you from all the way up here.” He smirked, and his brother’s face colored.

“Jerk,” Sam muttered, but he was smiling.

“Bitch,” Dean shot back with a grin of his own. “Okay, Cas, do your thing.”

Cas dipped his tail in the jar of paint and, slowly and methodically, started to write.

_I don’t know why my brother has done this, but he usually has some meaning to his actions. I presume something happened the night I was away (Dean and Sam shared uncomfortable glances), but if it was between you two, why bring me into it? I’m guessing that if we do what Gabriel wants us to do, that if we resolve whatever dispute that occurred, we’ll be allowed to leave this place. But if we don’t, we_

“Ra _punnn_ zel!” a voice from below trilled, and Dean’s heart sank. “Let down your _haa-air!”_

“Who-” Sam started, but Dean was already shoving him into the closet. “Cas, knock over that pot,” he commanded, and Cas tipped the paint jar over with a flick of his tail, his words washing away in a spill of white liquid.

“One moment, Mother!” he called, rushing to the window.

“I have a big surprise!” she sang, and Dean winced as she stepped onto his hair.

 _“Great,”_ he muttered as he pulled her up.

“I brought back parsnips. I’m going to make hazelnut soup for dinner, your favourite– _surprise!”_ she gushed, arms thrown out a dramatic gesture.

“Yeah, um, that’s great. Listen, Mother-”

“Oh, Rapunzel,” Gothel agonized, and Dean fought the temptation to strangle her, “you _know_ how I hate leaving you after a fight. _Especially_ when I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong!” She giggled, and her eyes fell on the upturned pot. _“Rapunzel,”_ she scolded. “Haven’t I told you _not_ to leave your paints out? _Now_ I’ll have to buy _more,_ and you _know_ how long a trip that is. _Three days,_ Rapunzel! Now go on, clean it up.” She snapped her fingers at Dean impatiently.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. But Mother, I just-” He paused, almost dropping the mop as her words sunk in.

A smile made its way across his lips.

“I hope you’re not still talking about the stars,” she chuckled, with a dangerous glint in her eye. “Because I really thought we dropped the issue, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s not that, definitely not that,” he said hurriedly. “I just- I was going to use the paint for a… surprise, and I got too excited, so I spilled it, and... maybeIcouldhavethatformybirthdayinstead?” He shot her his most charming smile.

The woman narrowed her eyes.

“I just thought it was a better idea than… stars,” he added quietly.

At Dean’s last words, she softened, and she patted his head. “Of course, pet. You’re sure you’ll be all right on your own?” She looked genuinely concerned, but Dean knew the real reason for her worries.

“I know I’m safe as long as I’m here,” he promised, faking a smile.

The moment she was out of sight, he slammed the windows shut.

\-------

“Okay,” Dean announced, swinging the closet doors open. “Get ready; we’re leaving.”

“Dean,” Sam said, reaching for his shoulder as Dean turned away, but Dean shrugged him off, stomping off to the other side of the room to gather fruits and cheese and slamming them into a woven basket. Something about Gothel irked him; maybe it was her arrogant, can-do-no-wrong demeanor, so reminiscent of one of their many enemies. He didn’t know; he didn’t want to know, really. Everything about her was off, and Dean wanted to spend as little time as possible with her.

 _“Dean,”_ Sam repeated, his tone firm, and Dean reluctantly met his eye. At the sight of his intense gaze, his shoulders slumped and, defeated, he said, “She just unnerves me, y’know? Like, I know she’s not real, but the way she acts, Gothel reminds me of…”

“Lucifer?” Sam asked, and Dean nodded. “Yeah, I got that too. And I get what you mean; the way she treats Rapunzel, this girl she kidnapped or something, it’s not... right.” He trailed off into an awkward silence.

Dean cleared his throat. “Ahem, yeah. I’m going to Rapunzel’s room, see if she has anything less… pink.” He looked down at his dress in distaste, glaring as Sam snickered. Flipping the younger hunter the bird, he turned and trudged down the hallway to the bedroom.

“Does Rapunzel even _own_ other dresses?” Sam whispered to Castiel, perched on his shoulder.

The chameleon tilted his head, thinking, and seemed about to answer when a loud _“SON OF A BITCH!”_ exploded from the other room.

“Guess that answers our question,” Sam said to the angel.

Looking absolutely murderous, Dean stormed into the living room. “I found _these,”_ he growled, thrusting two frilly dresses at Sam, which, if anything, looked even girlier than the one he was wearing. Sam howled.

Dean shot him a look that could curdle milk.

“Sorry,” Sam said between snorts, not looking very sorry at all. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Well, that’s all good. How am I supposed to be respected if I look like a friggin _Barbie doll?”_ He grouched, sinking into a chair to sulk.

“Dean, you’re a motherfucking _princess._ You’re not supposed to look intimidating.”

“Did you just-? You _did._ I can’t believe you just quoted Avril Lavigne at me.”

“And _I_ can’t believe you caught that. Maybe Gothel has something in her closet you can use?” Sam suggested.

“I might be able to use her cloak. Nothing else though; her dresses would probably be too big on me, seeing as I’m now a size zero,” Dean grumbled, peeling himself off of the seat. “Seriously though, this is disgusting. I feel like a _gnome.”_

“Tell me about it,” Sam agreed distractedly. Dean stared up at his brother, towering over him even in this universe. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but thought better of it; with a sigh he muttered, _“You fuckin moose,”_ shoving Sam’s shoulder and nearly knocking Cas off in the process. Ignoring Sam’s “Hey!” and Cas’s squeak of protest, he strode into Gothel’s bedroom, emerging with a thick, velvety cloak black as night, which he adjusted on his shoulders, slipping the hood over his head.

Judging by Sam’s expression, the effect was rather unnerving.

“That’s a really… interesting look,” Sam managed. “What with the... blonde hair and the pink dress, um…”

“Perfect,” Dean grinned. “Just what I was going for.”

With that, the trio stepped to the window.

Needless to say, they didn’t get very far.

\-------

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam coaxed encouragingly. “You can do it, just step off of the ledge…”

“Easy for you to say,” Dean exclaimed half-hysterically, clutching his frying pan like a lifeline. “You’re already halfway down the tower!”

“Don’t remind me,” Sam said with a shudder. Dean caught sight of three squirrels hopping into the sunlight, eyeing Sam’s newly mended clothing with interest before he was hit with another wave of vertigo.

Castiel, perched on Dean’s shoulder, gave him a small nudge before nodding his head at the midday sun, a reminder that they couldn’t bear to waste time. Dean couldn’t help the expression of panicked exasperation that crossed his face as he turned to the chameleon.

 _“Yeah, Cas, I get it,”_ he hissed. “But I just… heights aren’t really my thing, y’know?” He winced at the confession, but his friend ignored him. “And yeah, Cas, I don’t think that’ll work,” he said, as the chameleon clambered onto his face, bringing a hand to Dean’s forehead. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not exactly an angel anymore.”

The reptile dropped his hand, looking slightly miffed, and Dean sighed.

“Look, Cas, I’m sorry. I’m just kinda stressed out right now.” A piercing wail followed by a stream of profanity split the air, and Dean rolled his eyes. “Great, Sam’s down. _Oh shit, Sam’s down._ Okay. Um. I can do this. I can totally do this. Dammit, can’t there just be another musical number, so I don’t have to-” He slapped a hand over his mouth, but the words still hung in the air, and he prayed to God that Gabriel hadn’t been listening.

A harmony of strings wafted over the air, and Dean swore.

\-------

This was officially the weirdest day of Sam’s life.

“Um, Dean? Are you… singing?” he called up the tower as he distractedly kicked aside a rabbit, from where he could’ve _sworn_ he’d heard his brother’s breathy tones. His only response being silence, Sam laughed off the prospect of Dean outlining his life in song, singing to the birds nesting in his hair, because Dean _never_ sang, except off-key with the stereo in the Impala (or to heal his bruised and battered brother with his magical hair by suffocating him with it, but that was the exception, wasn’t it?) before his laugh turned into a gasp of pain, and he pulled a chipmunk from his hip.

He hadn’t even finished his rather impressive bout of cursing before the animals scattered, and he was diving out from under the ever-darkening shadow hanging over the very spot where he had stood a millisecond ago. Rolling into a kneeling position, he twisted around, casting his gaze skyward, prepared to ask his brother if he couldn’t have chosen a _better fucking place to land_ than on Sam’s head, when what he saw made him fall still. And adopt a very Cas-like expression of perplexed incredulousness.

His brother was sliding down his hair like a fireman’s pole, his cloak and skirts billowing majestically around him, rippling in the rushing wind. The sun shone off his luxuriant golden hair and his perfect, white teeth, but perfection stopped there; his eyes, marring his expression of ecstasy, were squeezed shut in terror, and he was screaming a continuous loop of curses through his petrified smile, half of them words Sam had never even heard before, as a terrified Cas clung to his face.

Too soon, the fall ended, and with one last cry of _“Fuck,”_ Dean flumped in an undignified heap onto the grass, a shaken Cas wobbling his way off Dean’s face.

“Dean?” Sam asked cautiously, stepping closer to the fallen hunter, but Dean held up a hand before Sam reached his side. Only then did Sam notice the background music, as a sudden surge of strings confirmed his shrugged-off suspicions, and Sam was unprepared for the bright, dazzling grin immediately shot his way when Dean finally met his eye; he gaped at his brother as Dean sat back on his haunches only to dive forward again, dreamily sweeping his arms across the grass and nuzzling into the soil before rolling over to sprawl across the ground, gazing into the sky as he crooned:

_“Just smell the grass, the dirt!”_

_“Just like I dreamed they’d be…”_ Catching sight of a dandelion dancing but a few inches from his face, Dean’s eyes widened to a degree that was almost terrifying, and a smile practically split his face in half. As he flipped over to inspect this phenomenon, a sudden gust of wind blew a flurry of seeds across the clearing, and Dean chased them, laughing, _“Just feel that summer breeze, the way it’s calling me…”_

Sam was barely aware of Cas clambering up his shoulder as he watched Dean rejoice over stumbling into a stream, squealing, _“For like the first time ever, I’m completely free!”_ and throwing a handful of water into his face. For a moment, Dean locked eyes with Sam, and Sam blinked at the emotions they held, burning with anger, desperation and embarrassment. His brow was furrowed with concentration, and for the first time, Sam entertained the possibility that Dean might not have total control of his body.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t fucking hilarious, though.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up as Dean’s emotions melted back into blank cheeriness, and he watched a bird flit around his head in absolute adoration. In a flash, though, the starry-eyed expression was gone, replaced by dawning realization of the freedom he had. _“I could, go... running, and racing, and dancing, and chasing,”_ he breathed, starting to run towards the cave, speed and volume increasing with every step, _“And leaping, and bounding, hair flying, heart pounding...”_ With a sudden burst of energy, he broke the curtain of vines, and Sam and Cas stood rooted to the spot, Cas’s brow furrowed and Sam simply stunned into silence, as Dean’s voice echoed through the forest, singing, _“And splashing, and reeling, and finally feeling,”_

_“THAT’S WHEN MY LIFE, BEEE-GINNNS!”_

“Maybe we should go check on him,” Sam said to the chameleon.

\-------

“That’s a rather strong reaction,” said a voice from behind him, and Dean looked up from his where he had been loudly spitting curses to see a perpetually confused chameleon perched on the shoulder of a faintly smiling Sam.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled, but Sam just kept grinning that kooky half grin that Dean so very dearly wanted to introduce to his frying pan. Finally, Sam exhaled, running a hand through his hair and giving a slight chuckle.

“I just… I honestly don’t know what to say. So, does that just _happen,_ or-”

 _“Yeah, it just happens,”_ Dean spat, and Sam’s eyes widened. “Gabe thought it’d be funny to force the magical princess into a fucking musical number every so often just to piss me off, WHICH IS WORKING, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” he shouted suddenly, and a number of birds fluttered up from the trees, twittering in alarm. He avoided Sam’s eye, feeling his face color, and the air between them thrummed with silent tension.

“So… this has happened before?” Sam said awkwardly, a sly grin creeping in his words. Dean groaned.

“It was a reprise,” he said gruffly, and Sam couldn’t stifle his snickers. Dean couldn’t help it; he cracked a smile, too.

It was just then that his stomach made a loud noise of protest.

“I wonder if they have pie here?” Dean said.

\-------

“‘The Snuggly Duckling’?” Sam read aloud, wrinkling his nose. “That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

“Oh, shut your cakehole, Sammy,” Dean said happily, practically dancing to the tavern door with Cas hanging on his sleeve for dear life. “It’s just a name, how bad can it be? Hel _-lo,_ sir, ma’am, we’ll have a slice of your finest-” he sang, throwing open the door with a bang, and immediately froze as a dozen burly thugs’ gazes shifted to him.

“Uh-” Dean said stupidly, and Cas’s eyes widened.

A patter of footsteps behind him announced Sam’s arrival, along with a call of “Dea-? Oh,” and Sam fell still beside him. At the sight of Sam, though, their audience’s eyes narrowed further, and a hook-handed ruffian held up a piece of paper laying on the table beside him, growling, “Is this you?”

The page bore a drawing of Sam’s borrowed face _(but seriously, what was up with his nose? They really needed to hire better sketch artists,_ thought Dean), flashing a rather spectacular shit-eating grin their way from under the word WANTED.

_Oops._

“Ho ho, it’s him all right,” chuckled Hook-Handed Douche, and Dean made a surprised noise as he and Sam were dragged into the establishment, the door slamming shut behind them. “Greno, go find some guards! _That reward’s going to buy me a new hook.”_  He held his gleaming silver hook to Sam’s neck for emphasis, drawing blood as he scraped it across Sam’s skin, making the hunter gasp.

“I could use the money!” clattered another thug from inside his horned iron helmet, pulling Sam from Hook-Handed Douche’s grip.

“What about me? I’m broke!” barked the largest of them all, pulling Sam into a stranglehold. Shouts and protests filled the air, and Dean watched helplessly as Sam was made the victim of a game of human tug-of-war, being fought over and violently jerked every which way as more and more ruffians got in on the fun.

“Sammy?” Dean shouted, jumping for a better view of his brother amidst the crowd and finding himself rather severely disadvantaged with his new height. He attempted to push through the throng, but they were packed too tightly, and Dean exploded with a number of increasingly vulgar curses at Rapunzel’s nonexistent arm (or _anywhere)_ muscles, startling a poor ruffian rather badly who turned to Dean with a kind of horrified respect.

“Oh, _fuck off,”_ Dean snarled at the man.

“DEAN!”

“SAM?” he roared, trying to be make himself heard over the chaos. “You okay?”

“Fucking fantastic,” Sam spat, and Dean could practically hear his bitchface in his tone. “Dean, the guards are gonna be here soon, and I don’t know if these guys are gonna let me go. Just take Cas and leave, now. Chances are, you’re as wanted as me.”

“Are you INSANE!? I don’t know if this has gotten through your thick skull, Sammy, but I’M _NOT LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!_ HEY, HOOKIE! YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT, I’M TALKING TO YOU, YOU HANDICAPPED PIECE OF SHIT! GET YOUR-” he broke through the crowd- “FILTHY PAWS-” he spun the surprised brute around- _“OFF MY BROTHER!”_

And with that, he kneed him in the crotch.

\-------

To his credit, the man took it surprisingly well. He didn’t scream, he didn’t swear, though Dean did note the widening of his eyes as he went down with smug satisfaction. The crowd had fallen silent, every eye on him; with a predatory look he’d gained from years of hunting, he swept his gaze across the room, daring any other thugs to fuck with him.

“Alright, you sons of bitches,” he started, lowering his voice to ramp up the fear factor in the room. “I don’t know- _where I am, and I need him to take me to see the lanterns because I’ve been_ dreaming _about them my entire life!_ Find _your_ humanity! _Haven’t any of you_ ever _had a_ dream?”

He didn’t even have time to process the words that had just spilled from his mouth (or Sam’s look of confusion) before Hook-Handed Douche was picking himself up off the floor, groaning as he staggered to his feet, all the while keeping a hand firmly planted between his legs. Dean empathized; with his new body, he had probably miscalculated the force he had used in the blow.

Pretty severely, by the looks of it.

Though he couldn’t help the feeling of pride that bubbled up in his chest.

His smirk faded as the hulking brute (seriously, was _everyone_ here except for him and Sam built like a brick shithouse?) limped toward him, and amidst the man’s angered/pained look and the ominous background music _(really,_ Gabriel?), he allowed himself a tiny sliver of fear.

“I had a dream… once,” the man managed through a hiss of pain, his white-fingered grip on the table seemingly the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

And with a fling of his axe, the musical number began. 

\-------

As musical numbers went, this one wasn’t actually that bad.

Sure, there was the whole “singing and dancing joyously with a tavern of scarred and violent brutes” thing that that was creepy to the point of surreal, but hey, Dean only had to sing for fifteen seconds, and  he’d be damned if that wasn’t an improvement. Also, there was the benefit of watching Sam struggle through his solo; Dean had just smirked as Sam looked at him helplessly, even pulling out the puppy eyes on his smug brother between lyrics. To no avail, of course.

(And then there was the schadenfreude Dean had privately indulged in as he watched Hook-Handed Douche stumble through the song, but nobody needed to know about _that.)_

But good luck never lasts, with a crash of the door swinging open and a cry of “I found the guards!” Dean’s good mood dissolved.

“Where’s Rider?” barked an unfortunately mustached guard as Hook-Handed Douche yanked Dean and Sam to the side, Cas squeaking at the sudden motion. “What the-” Sam started, but the ruffian slapped his good right hand over Sam’s mouth, muffling his cry of alarm as he led them towards the bar, careful to avoid the head guard’s searching gaze.

Dean drew a sharp breath as the floor opened with a crank of a lever.

“Go,” the thug whispered, nudging them towards the passageway. “Live your dream.”

Sam violently shook his head, eyes wide as a devious smile crept across Dean’s face. Turning to the douche, Dean shot him a sly grin, confidently turning from the tunnel to lean in close to the ruffian.

“Sorry, Hookie,” he hissed, eyes glinting, “retreat’s not in our nature. Ready, Sammy?” he called to his brother, already collecting his frying pan from off the floor. He didn’t know why he still carried it with him; though there were obviously better weapons here, it just felt… _natural,_ the iron’s weight heavy and comfortable in his hands. _Fucking Gabriel._

“Uh, yeah,” Sam replied. “Um, so do you, like, have another sword or something?” he asked the brute awkwardly.

Though obviously confused, he wordlessly lifted a sword from the wall and passed it to Sam.

“Thanks,” Sam said to the ruffian, flashing him a reassuring smile. “Alright, Dean-”

But Dean was already vaulting over the counter.

“SURPRISE, BITCH!” Dean yelled, slamming his frying pan into the back of an unsuspecting guard’s head, who immediately crumpled. Smirking, Dean stepped over the body, only to realize too late that the room had fallen silent; a quick sweep of his eyes across the room confirmed that all eyes were on him.

The guards’ swords suddenly looked very pointy.

_Oh god. I’m gonna die a princess._

Dean gulped.

“Don’t worry, uh,” Dean said awkwardly, his voice ringing in the silent room. “He’s not dead. See?” Giving his audience a smile, he kicked the unconscious man for emphasis, eliciting a groan from the fallen guard; he could have sworn he’d heard a mutter of _“God, Dean…”_ from behind the bar as the the other officers shot him a mixture of shocked and offended looks. “Um... yeah, okay. _Sam?”_ Dean called over his shoulder. “A little help here?”

“Yeah, you really need it,” Sam bitched as he popped up from behind the counter.

_“RIDER!”_

“Hi.”

_“DROP YOUR WEAPON!”_

“Not gonna happen.”

“Make this easier on yourself, Rider. Give us the crown and you just _might_ avoid a life sentence.”

“I, uh… I don’t have it.”

“BULLSHIT! GET HIM, BOYS!”

“No, I’m not kidding! I seriously don’t have it. Dean, DUCK!”

“GET AWAY FROM HIM, YOU SONS OF BITCHES! HE’S INNOCENT! SAM! WHAT’S GOING ON?”

_“Sam?”_

“I, uh, stole the lost princess’s crown or something like that-”

“YOU _WHAT?”_

“It was the kingdom’s prized possession, you little shit-”

“-and I gave it to a horse.”

“WHAT THE HELL, SAM?!?”

 _“A horse?_ Nice try, Rider-”

“Sir! It’s Maximus, and he’s got the crown!”

_“Maximus?”_

“Looks like they’ve found the lost princess.”

“...That is the stupidest thing I’ve seen in my entire life, and I’ve seen Sam’s hair.”

 _“Hey!_ At least _my_ hair isn’t blonde and 70 feet long.”

“Touché.”

“Excuse my bluntness, fair maiden, but what on earth is up with your hair?”

_“Fair maiden-”_

“Shut up, bitch. I’m, ah… I’m growing it out. Hey Sam, whaddya say we leave this one conscious? I’m liking the “fair maiden” bit, even if it may not be biologically correct. And we do need somebody to bring back the crown. ”

“What the devil does that mean, _“not biologically-”_

“Sure. I’ll take these guys, you get the rest. And, you, just… sit tight for a bit. We’ll try not to cause any serious damage.”

“Any serious-”

_CLANG!_

\-------

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Dean said to the chameleon perched on his shoulder as he smoothed down the quilt.

After they had knocked out all the guards and Dean had arranged the bodies in increasingly homoerotic positions (much to Sam’s dismay), they’d sent Maximus and the horrified guard on their way. Discreetly, Sam had taken the liberty of relieving the unconscious of their money (“Don’t give me that look, Dean, we can’t exactly hustle pool here”) and with the help of directions and some extra bills at the counter, Team Free Will was currently relaxing in a comfortable room in an inn just outside the city.

Or at least, they had been.

“Dean?” Sam poked his head around the doorway. “Meet me outside; we need to talk.”

Dean pretended not to notice his choice of tone; Sam was using his we’re-having-a-chick-flick-moment-and-there’s-nothing-you-can-do-about-it voice, and Dean was less than eager to comply. “Alright,” he said brightly. “just let me grab Cas and we’ll-”

“No,” Sam shouted, then corrected himself at the sight of Dean and Cas’s stares. “I mean, not Cas. Just Dean. Outside. Now.”

He strode through the doorway and practically dragged Dean out of the bedroom, flashing his teeth at the bewildered chameleon.

“The fuck was that about?” Dean demanded once they were outside.

“Dean…” Sam grimaced. “I know you’re allergic to feelings and all that shit, but there’s really no gentler way to say this: if we want to get out of here, you’re gonna have to spill.”

“Okay, Sam, you’re not making a lick of sense-”

“Remember what Cas said? He said that Gabriel “usually had some meaning to his actions”, and if we did what he said, we’d get out. Accepting your death, playing our roles- I woke up here after our fight, and Gabriel-” His eyes narrowed. “He told you something, didn’t he?”

“The hell are you implying, Sam?” Dean said gruffly, but Sam must have read the dishonesty in his face, because he fixed Dean with a stare that was downright venomous.

 _“Dean. What did he say?”_ Sam growled, and Dean gave up.

“Something about admitting my feelings,” he mumbled.

“God, Dean,” Sam muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Okay; we’ll go back inside, I’ll get Cas, and this’ll all be over. I’ll get another room for when you fuck like bunnies, we’ll order a pizza and get the hell outta Dodge. Sound like a plan?”

He was halfway to the door before he realized Dean hadn’t moved.

Oh, _fuck_ no.

“Sam,” Dean pleaded, “I can’t do this. I can’t- just- not right now. _Please,_ not right now.”

“If not now, _when?”_ Sam yelled, losing his temper. “When you’re crowned princess and I’m in jail? When Cas is named a pest and thrown out of the castle?” His voice dropped to a whisper, and he leaned in close. “Dean, this is the best opportunity we have, and we have to take it. How can we be sure we’ll get another chance?”

 _“Sam,”_ Dean croaked, his voice laced with fear, _“I can’t.”_

Sam sighed. “Well, I suppose I can’t make you. C’mon,” he said gently, turning back to the entrance of the inn. “Let’s go inside.”

 

 


End file.
